


Seven Times Arthur Weasley Inadvertently Wooed Molly Prewett

by foreword



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: '', F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-10
Updated: 2008-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-23 22:24:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4894597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreword/pseuds/foreword
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years later, Arthur will still marvel over the magic of Muggles, and always, always, over the magic of Molly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Times Arthur Weasley Inadvertently Wooed Molly Prewett

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loony4lupin](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=loony4lupin), [madeyemax](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=madeyemax).



> **A/N** : A gift for loony4lupin and madeyemax . A million thanks to verdenia, karinberry, bewarethesmirk, and maya_morning for the betaing and encouragement! ♥ This is a little sappy...

The first time Arthur meets Molly, he's on a train, speeding away to his very first year at Hogwarts. He's in a compartment by himself—a nervous eleven year old boy flipping through a microwave instruction manual (a parting gift from his mother) but too nervous to actually read any of it. He glances out the window every so often, takes in the blur of trees and sky and feels a little light-headed and terrified.

His compartment door slides open suddenly and Arthur nearly jumps.

"Sweets, dear?" 

Arthur gives the lady pushing the sweets cart his best disarming smile as he smoothes out the pages of his beaten and worn microwave manual. "No thanks," he says. "I'm all set."

"Excuse me," a girl's voice interrupts, from somewhere just out of eyesight in the hallway. "Do you know who makes these pumpkin pasties? Only they're not very pasty, are they?"

The lady with the cart murmurs something that doesn't sound much like an answer, and then she's gone, pushing the cart hurriedly down the hallway. The girl steps into Arthur's open doorway, arms crossed over her chest as she stares after the lady with a frown. She's got bright red hair that's tied up in bunches and a rather impressive scowl on her face. Arthur has never seen anyone so beautiful. 

"Oh," the girl says as she turns, noticing Arthur for the first time. "Hello. What's your name?"

Arthur smiles and opens his mouth and—suddenly his mind is completely blank. "I um…" he says, feeling his face flush with embarrassment. "Well, the funny thing is…" he stalls, and the girl raises an eyebrow. There's a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, and the more Arthur flounders on answering such a simple question, the more charmed she looks.

"My name's Molly," she says, stepping into his compartment and sliding the door shut behind her. "Let me know when you remember yours."

**ii.**

In Arthur Weasley's second year, he develops a terrible crush on Genevieve Parkinson. Molly Prewett, his new best friend, never has pleasant things to say about her, but Arthur just knows she's wrong. He can see in the way she moves, in her elegant speech and beautiful robes, can tell that she's special, that she's different.

He very nearly falls out of his seat the day she approaches him in the Great Hall and asks him if he's going to Hogsmeade that weekend. Molly huffs quietly beside him, and Arthur struggles for the ability to speak.

"I'm sorry?" he says, trying not to stutter. "I didn't think second years were allowed along."

Genevieve only bats her eyelashes at him and smiles, and Molly's fork clangs sharply against her plate. "All rules are made to be broken, Arthur."

Arthur frowns. "I'm sorry," he says again. "But I just don't agree."

Now it's Genevieve's turn to huff, and as she stalks back across the Great Hall, Molly quietly slips him one of her shortcakes.

**iii.**

Everyone remembers the day that Antonin Dolohov played a game of _Serpensortia_ in Arthur Weasley's pumpkin juice. It's memorable to most people because of the effect—because of how Arthur ended up drenched in pumpkin juice, running screaming from the Great Hall. 

Arthur's the only one who knows the cause, though, and he goes to Antonin that night, knows just where to find him.

"Ah, Weasley," Dolohov sneers, sounding simultaneously proud and disgusted, "come for another show?"

He raises his wand, but Arthur is faster, and a minute later he's holding both. Antonin looks suddenly incensed.

"If you know what's good for you," Dolohov says coldly, "you'll give that back."

"And if you know what's good for _you_ ," Arthur says loudly, trying his best not to betray how scared he is. "You'll leave her alone."

Antonin's sneer quirks into an interested, cold smile, and he takes a moment to reply. "Can't stand the competition, Weasley? Think you've actually got a chance?"

Arthur's grip on the wands tightens. "She just deserves better than you, is all. Molly is better than that."

Antonin laughs, a rich, genuine laugh that sticks with Arthur for years, a laugh that he'll hear again, years later, in the midst of brutal _crucios_. 

"You'll never be anything to her," Antonin says, and suddenly he's got his wand back, but it's too late for another disarming spell, too late to try and protect himself now. Arthur ducks and Arthur runs, but he's hit before he ever sees Molly there, racing down the dungeon steps to save him. 

She does, though.

**iv.**

Christmas is in twelve days and Molly keeps reminding him, keeps asking if he's gotten gifts yet for his Aunt Muriel, if his brother Bilius will need a new scarf this year, because she's got some extra yarn and time and wouldn't a hand-knitted one be best, for family?

Arthur's having trouble focusing, honestly. He's been racking his brain for weeks now and despite her million and one ideas for his relatives, he still has no idea what to get her. He'd hoped that going out with her would give her an opportunity to tell him, show him, the perfect gift for—

"Arthur dear?" Molly asks, and Arthur is jolted back from his thoughts. He claps his hands together and turns to face her with the brightest smile he can muster.

"Shall we get something to warm up with, then? Maybe a nice butterbeer for a pretty girl?"

Molly blushes profusely and slaps his arm, as she does, and Arthur feels warmer already as they make their way through the snowdrifts towards the Hog's Head, Molly picking up another string of chatter about his relatives and their gifts.

He's not sure what to get her, and he's not sure that he'll ever be able to give her everything she deserves, but he'll do his absolute best, that's for sure.

**v.**

The first time Arthur kisses Molly, she thinks he's moving in to smudge some ink off of her nose. 

They're in the library, locked in an intense bout of studying ruled by Molly's iron prefect fist. Today, they're working on charms, but Arthur hasn't been able to concentrate on anything past _Alohamora_. 

She's wearing that perfume again, the one she claims is just some herbs from Greenhouse 3, the one that makes Arthur completely unable to function.

"Mollywobbles," he says suddenly, abruptly cutting off her sermon on _Leviosa_. Molly gives him a sharp look, as if she intends on continuing, but that's when Arthur leans in, all sweaty palms and chapped lips and terror.

"What, dear, did I get some ink on my—oh—mmph—"

Arthur kisses her in a soft, clumsy bump of lips and noses and almost tongue, but Molly breaks it, pushes him away with a disapproving cluck of her tongue.

"Arthur Weasley, I—"

Arthur has never felt more horrible in his entire life. Not the time that he swallowed that illegal shot of firewhiskey Dung had given him, not the time the garden gnome took the tip of his thumb off and it had to be reattached, not even the time that he found out that his father had thrown away the telephone he'd rescued from a Muggle garbage heap.

"'m sorry," he mumbles awkwardly, gaze locked on the table in front of him. "I'll go—"

He moves to sit up, to shove back from the table and leave, to try and save the last of his dignity, but Molly catches him by the shirt collar, and then they're kissing in earnest, half bent across the table between them as she tries to teach him how to do it right.

**vi.**

Arthur doesn't want a big fuss for his seventeenth birthday. Well, maybe he does, but he still feels a little guilty when Molly blindfolds him and leads him carefully down the stairs of Gryffindor Tower. For her birthday, he'd summoned some flowers and her favorite chocolates, and she seems to have gone all out. 

They're climbing for what seems like hours, and Arthur keeps almost bumping into busts and railings and other obstacles, always barely saved by a "watch your step, dear" or a sudden tight jerk of her fingers against his elbows.

He has to say it's worth it, though, when Molly tugs off the blindfold and Arthur finds himself in the kitchen.

There's a cake the size of an entire table there, precariously balanced on three, with chocolate frosting that looks almost deep enough to swim in. Across the top, in bright orange icing are the words "Happy Birthday, Arthur!"

"I baked it myself," Molly whispers, "Muggle-style."

He turns slowly to stare at her, eyes wide with awe, unable to comprehend such a feat, but Molly only smiles up at him, face pink with some combination of joy and embarrassment. She squeezes his hand and laughs.

"Go on," she says. "Have a slice."

Years later, Arthur will still marvel over the magic of Muggles, and always, always, over the magic of Molly. He'll never understand how anything could be so amazing, so beautiful, and so perfect (and the cake is pretty good, too).

**vii.**

"So," Arthur says sleepily, rolling onto his side to gaze at Molly. 

She always looks beautiful in the morning, always with her hair so beautifully mussed and her eyes half-closed. She yawns and stretches and Arthur smiles.

"So," she murmurs.

"What are your plans for today?"

Molly's brow crinkles in thought. "Well," she sighs, "I have to finish packing, of course, and I'll need to send a few owls and say my goodbyes and then I suppose… I'm going home."

She doesn't look at Arthur. He's wondered how they'll ever say goodbye, but it never seemed like they'd have to. Suddenly, though, it's seventh year and they're going home, and there's no more Hogwarts, no more seeing her again in the fall, no more spending every day with her. He guesses this is where they should say it, this is where they should plan on saying goodbye to each other.

"Arthur, I…"

He watches as she chews on her bottom lip, like she's working out a difficult problem or trying out a new recipe. 

"I love you," she whispers.

"Marry me," he says. "We'll elope today. We'll never have to say goodbye, not ever."

And she does.


End file.
